Once
by Eitan
Summary: Tauriel knew she could never let Legolas know. It was her duty to protect him. She wouldn't betray their friendship. But it is Mereth en Giliath. A night for tales, songs and dance. (Picks up after Thranduil's 'Do-not-give-him-hope'-speech)
1. But Tonight We Dance

**A/N:**_  
_

_My Dearies,_

_I really don't know how this could happen to me. I have loved Tolkien's world ever since I watched PJ's _Lord of the Rings _movies for the first time when I was a child, but since _DoS _I seemed to have magically transformed into a Legolas (__and Mirkwood Elves__ in general_) f_angirl. As most of the fandom I was a little sceptical in terms of PJ's OC Tauriel__—which turned out to be unnecessary because seriously: Tauriel is awesome. How could anyone not like her? She is everything the leading female character of such a genre should be like it: Badass, brave, smart, kind and not defined through one of the male characters. Yeeees, I have to admit I also rolled my eyes at the cheesy scene between Tauriel and Kili in the dungeons but giving it a second thought, they only displayed the same kind of cheesy talk that has already been done between Arwen and Aragorn. So to everyone who's mad because PJ spent precious screentime on sweet nothings: Love is just as important in epics as is fighting. That said, I'm actually cool with the love-triangle because as PJ already did with Arwen-Aragorn-Eowyn, Legolas-Tauriel-Kili is handled very carefully. _

_Having watched DoS I couldn't resist shipping Tauriel and Kili____—they are just too cute, especially with Kili being the damsel in distress and Tauriel being the hero to come to his rescue thrice(!). But lately I find myself more on the Legiel ship, and the main reason is probably the scene in which Thranduil confronts Tauriel with Legolas' growing feelings for her: Say what you like but no one can persuade me that Tauriel has not at least once thought about the possibility of her and Legolas being more than just friends. Yes, she looked totally startled when Thranduil spoke of Legolas' fondness towards her but then she looked almost hopeful as he went on. Also: Why on earth would she even bother mentioning her doubt that Thranduil would welcome such an union if she doesn't feel more towards Legolas? If she really regarded the idea of them together to be absurd, she would have just shrugged it and Thranduil's words off. But what do we get instead after his_ "Do not give him hope"_-speech? ____ A miserable, shattered look from Tauriel. _

___This oneshot (I have not decided yet) is my try on what could be going on in Tauriel's head after her talk with Thranduil. I thought it important to imply that I don't think, Thranduil is against such a relationship simply because of Tauriel's lower elven heritage. Doesn't make sense to me because if that really bothered him, he would have never given her the position of Captain of the Guard______—especially if you take her youth into consideration. The fact that he trusts her to handle the "Legolas-is-fond-of-you"-situation instead of stripping her from her position, emphasizes that he respects her. But I guess, Thranduil is such a complex character that you can never be sure. _

___The song Legolas sings to Tauriel is a modified version of the song of the maiden Nimrodel he sang to the fellowship during their stay in Lothlorien. The first three stanza (although slightly changed by me) belong to J.R.R Tolkien__________—the last two ones belong to me. _

___Elvish translations are provided at the end. _

* * *

Chapter: **But Tonight We Dance**

* * *

_I do not think you would allow you son to pledge himself to a lowly Silvan-Elf._

_No, you are right. I would not. _

The words echoed in her mind—over and over.

Sometimes knowing was more crucial than not-knowing. Knowledge was power. Thranduil had chosen to say the wrong thing at the right time. Was it any better than saying the right thing at the wrong time? Tauriel had left the Elven-King but his words had followed nonetheless. Thranduil's words—no matter if spoken with utter caution or with thundering wrath or even when spoken with tender affection—always stung. They seemed to address the core of one's very being.

It was one of his many weapons if not the deadliest one. Spider poison was kind in comparison. It hurt just the briefest of moments and was gone as fast as a nightmare that has to bow before the first stray of morning sunlight. The King's words on the other hand were made to be haunting. And his voice—smooth as velvet, strong as iron and melodic as moonlight—was made to rule. Yet, Tauriel could also remember a time when his voice was made to soothe. Six hundred years ago he had been already the graceful, aloof Elven-King he was today, but he did not distance himself from the world as he did in recent times.

Her Elfling-self could only recall his kindness and the warmth in his stunning blue eyes when he crouched down before her on the forest floor, dressed in full battle gear. Thranduil had offered her no pity, no tears, no shallow words—only understanding. The understanding of one who shared the same loss she had to endure, who knew the pain it caused to lose a soul that had been here for you from the day of your very first breath, that loved you unconditionally for what you are and that never would have stopped fighting for you—against all odds and darkness of the world.

_Avosto, Tauriel gornen. Aphado nin. Since the world has robbed you of your Ada, I will do what I can on his behalf._

_Gwestol?_

The great Elven-King then had smiled at her—a true, radiant smile she has hardly seen ever since.

_Gwestan._

Thranduil's hand had found the top of her head, soft fingers stroking caringly through her auburn hair with the same love as her father had always done it—all those nights spent under the eyes of the stars, listening to the sounds of a world growing darker with every heartbeat.

_Lasto tîr, pînmaethril. This is how it sounds when a world is dying._

Tauriel stopped abruptly, only now realizing where her feet and troubled mind had taken her. The familiar scent of wet, cold stone danced around her nose mingling with the reverential smell of ancient wood. She had lost it. In the next second her left hand shot out supporting her against the living walls. A dreadful cry backed against her throat. It threatened to give voice to the kind of anguish not made to be heard by anyone else but her.

_Legolas said you fought well today._

The elleth panted, the sting sinking deeper the more she tried to gain control. Both her hands were shaking now. It consumed her—the thoughtfulness, the desperation, the realization. She needed to find herself again, to come back to who she was before sorrow would cloud her judgment. There was only one way to ease such pain.

Tauriel clenched her fist.

_Still, he cares about you._

No second thought was able to still her hand. Her movement was as fast as every stroke of her sword—everything she felt converged into this one single blow. She hissed under her breath as her knuckles made contact with the old stone. Liquid fire spread from her right hand into her system freeing heart and mind from the heaviness of her spirit. The nails of her other hand dug into the wall as Tauriel waited for the waves of pain to decline. Her heart was racing now. Traces of blood emerged from the bruised skin.

Presently, the ever so rough, ever so consoling feeling of rock underneath her fingertips slowly sobered her thoughts. Unyielding the hearts of rocks have ever been and marked by stubbornness their bearings. They did not break words with any living beings except with the eldest trees of old—the ones who remembered the first rain. They would not offer her consolation. But there was one who could.

The elleth turned her head towards the end of the stairs.

The wooden path blended into the open mouth of a cavern. No pale light or other twilit glow illuminated the formation save for the sparkling, cheerful reflections of flowing water. The stream under Thranduil's realm called for her from its bed—drawing her in with a calming voice full of hope and merriness.

When she took the last step a chilly breeze brushed ghostly over her face playing with the strands of her hair. Not all Elves found peace in the company of this proud element but she had loved this place the moment Thranduil had showed it to her all those years ago.

Tauriel kneeled down on the hard soil before the water's edge, observing the lively surface while listening to the tales the stream was eager to share with her. She could have sat there for only seconds or for hours—she would not have noticed nor cared. Eventually the elleth dunked her right hand into the water. A relaxed sigh escaped her lips as the water cooled the fire-like pain. Tauriel closed her eyes concentrating on nothing else other than letting go and the murmur of the stream.

_I assure you, my lord, Legolas thinks of me no more than a captain of the guard._

_Perhaps he did once. Now … I am not so sure._

No.

It was not Thranduil's fault. Not Legolas'. Not hers. It was no ones fault. She had been blind for what was right in front of her. All those years.

Now that Thranduil had pointed it out there was no going back.

Now Tauriel knew what it was—this fragile _something_ that had always been there.

Now she could see it, too: Small gestures—a hand resting longer than necessary on her shoulder; a thumb moving almost cautiously—as if afraid to scare here away—over her fingers to get her attention; Legolas sitting next to her—so close that their elbows touched ever so lightly.

On some days it had amused her. The elleth then had smiled or chuckled at him in response, for—unlike other Elves—she had never been one to be afraid of proximity and skin to skin contact—especially not of his'. Legolas searching for her closeness had always been playful enough. It was just them—nothing to fear, nothing to hide. She had never thought anything of it. It came to them naturally, like the song of the rain or the whispers of the trees. She had welcomed it, for it was a blessing not many of their kind would know even once in all their lifetime: Two souls dancing to the same rhythm of life.

How could she have rejected it?

Tauriel could not decide whether to pity them, or herself and Legolas. What one never has experienced, he would never come to miss. Sometimes fighting could be just as fatal as giving up. This was a lost battle. The elleth would not lie to herself: She would miss it—terribly. She already did.

In a way Thranduil had saved them both from a fate worse than death—he had ended it before grave damage would be inflicted on either of their hearts. Now it would only be her soul—not her heart—that would mourn the loss of Legolas' soothing presence, the hum of his breath—always calm and determined—the scent of his skin—a mixture of sun kissed stone and young earth—and she would mourn his singing voice: Breath-taking beautiful and pure like the sight of a moon in full blossom during a balmy midsummer's night, but also warm and comforting like the flames of a campfire. Hearing it on various occasions she had always wondered which one of his parents had gifted Legolas with this talent—his father or his mother? Tauriel had never heard King Thranduil sing but if his usual speech voice was any indication, she would assume Legolas inherited many of his father's character traits—not his attitude but physical appearance and abilities.

She had followed both their examples for she could not have stand it to be unworthy in their eyes. Ever since it had been her greatest fear to disappoint them both.

Tauriel sighed. There was nothing she would miss more or miss less. She would miss it all—all that was Legolas, her brother in arms, her protégée, her companion. Of course she was still the Captain of the Guard and he was still her Prince. They would be close without being close.

_The deadliest is your arrow when released between two heartbeats, Tauriel. _

A sad smile settled on her lips, memories overrunning her. For once she let them. This one time—then never again.

On other, more cheekier days she had returned those little gestures of his—bumping her elbow quickly against his in a mocking manner or tapping her fingertips over his arm to a song only she could hear. More than once she chose the rhythm of his heart as a model. No one could have mistaken the affectionate look in his eyes he would give her in return for anything else—except her. She had been blind for the bright light speaking openly from his soul through his eyes to hers. She had not recognized the darker glint that would turn the ice-blue depths into an all-consuming storm when the two of them practiced hand-to-hand combat, or his murderous glare she countless of times fell prey to for her reckless actions.

In retrospective it was not fury she detected in his eyes.

In retrospective it had not been the heat of the battle that had driven Legolas to capture her between his arms and leave a chaste, protective kiss on her temple.

Her cheeks suddenly felt as if the sun had burned them. In one swift motion Tauriel took her hand out of the freezing water and was on her feet, turning away from the stream. Hopefully the water had accepted her memories. After all it was in its character—from the most majestic river down to the smallest brook—to take sorrow away. That was what Thranduil had advised her to do whenever she felt the weight of her immortal existence trying to drag her into the shadows.

_Do not travel in darkness. Step out into the rain. Kneel down in front of the river. Memories are like water, Tauriel. Let them flow or they shall overpower you in time. _

Thranduil had kept his promise. She would keep hers as well—she would do what was asked of her. It was the right thing to do.

The elleth swallowed. That was when she noticed. She closed her eyes to steady her mind and breath before facing the unavoidable.

"How long have you been watching?" she asked against the murmuring song of the stream, her voice low almost frail. It sounded nothing like her usual self. Yet, with him she knew she did not need to pretend—he would see through any mask and every attempt of false bravery anyway.

"Long enough to know that something is troubling you, _tinu nín_."

Instantly her grayish green eyes shot up to meet his icy-blue ones. They seemed troubled with her trouble but at the same time harbored the familiar warmth, he seemed to have reserved only for her. It was nearly the same look he had given her on the day they had met for the first time. One tiny _something_ was different, though—like a sunset was different from a sunrise or the light of winter different from the light of summer.

It was enough to make her feel wary.

"_Na ten u-mîn,_ _ernil nín_."

He frowned in response as if she had insulted him which Tauriel knew she had. Their friendship was on a level beyond such defensive, non-saying answers—and for nearly six hundred years more than beyond proper court etiquette. Tauriel only referred to him as _prince _when her duty as captain demanded it due to formal situations or when she gave orders. She did not even call Legolas by his title in front of his father. He would not have it any other way. It was Legolas way of expressing that he was much more than the son of a king. The title marked _what_ he was but not _who_ he was. He always made sure everyone remembered that.

"Of course, _hest,_" he said, his tone equally distant as hers. "According to you it is always _nothing_."

Legolas stepped down from the last stair heading straight towards her. No sound could be heard while he made his way and not once did his eyes leave hers.

She wanted to run—past him, out into the woods, up the highest tree until she was as close to the stars as possible. Anything—even fighting a nest of spiders all on her own—was less dangerous than this. She feared to hurt him, to dishonor and betray his trust and friendship in more ways than one. It was her duty to protect him. She would not let him down. She could not risk to let him know.

He stopped right in front of her—barely an arm's length away, his intimidating stare directed at her. As expected, she was welcomed by the scent of warm stone within the next heartbeat. As an Elfling she had not been able to resist: Every now and then she had thrown her arms tightly around his larger form until Legolas had shown mercy. The moment he had picked her up, she had cuddled as close as physically possible to him bedding her head in his neck, a sigh escaping her lips. The spot under his ear between throat and chin had been her favorite one—there the scent of sun and warmth and earth had been the strongest.

"Don't say it's nothing when it is clearly everything."

Tauriel could not help it. Despite the tension she felt, her features softened. "_Tinu nín_?" she replied amused, both of her eyebrows forming an elegant bow. "You haven't called me that in decades—are you sure it still applies to me?"

That was when he smiled—a true, teasing one. In an instant the shadow on his face disappeared, leaving a light behind that reminded her of a newly risen sun in the turn of spring. Her blood sang. How she had missed that look in the last couple of decades.

The evil growing from Dol Guldur had affected them all over time—not as strong to cause a change of heart as it would do to men but strong enough to ban certain lights from their lives. The light of smiles and laugh had been one of them. Tauriel could not recall when it began. The change had not been sudden. It had been a slow, disguised process eating on their cheerful souls until one day realization of what has become of their spirited natures had set in. The frustration not to be able to save their home and to defeat the looming threat once and for all had done the rest. Would the light of Greenwood ever return? Would the dying of the trees stop in time? When could the laughter of the stars be heard again at night?

"It always will," he promised, not able to banish the musical chuckle from his voice. "For I am the one who looks after you and you are the one who is trying her best to get herself into trouble all the time."

It took Tauriel all the self-control she could muster up to not pinch him on the arm. Under other circumstances she would have done it—she would have kept doing it if Thranduil had not opened her eyes to the obvious.

_Legolas has grown very fond of you._

"Not all of us want to be wise," she offered with a small smile, asking herself why she still had not found a good reason to excuse herself. She balanced dangerously close to the edge. "Besides I don't want to lose this part of me …"

"Never," he interjected, his eyes searching hers to make her understand. "You will never lose it."

"You did," was her gentle reply. Legolas almost flinched. _"_You are so different from the ellon I met over five hundred years ago … you were cheeky back then, lighthearted, and you smiled more often." Tauriel wondered at every sunset. When did it happen? When did they replace heart with mind; tales with death reports; fighting with hiding; strength with faltering; alliances with treachery? And what was more important: Why did they let it happen?

"Do not think it is your fault," he said, detecting the distress in her words.

"You took me under your wings," Tauriel insisted. "You taught me how to fight, how to run with the wind and how to chase the shadows instead of letting the shadows chasing me. Protecting what is dear to me is the only thing I ever wanted …"

Suddenly she longed to reach for him, to play with the ends of his silver-blond hair and swirl the silky strands around her fingers. It had been her way of expressing her thanks and loyalty to him. When she came off age she had to realize how intimate and unusual such a gesture between non-related Elves was in fact. Still it had taken her about two centuries to get rid of this habit. Now—as she was taking in the sight of him in the calm light of the stream—she was glad she did. Tauriel could not fail to notice that he was still dressed in his armor.

Legolas smirked—the kind of smirk that gave her the feeling as if he knew more than her. "Tauriel, why will you not see that you are the only one who doubts your skills? Stop underestimating yourself or my father will find himself a new Captain one day."

The elleth raised her brows mockingly. "You mean, a Captain who does not defy his orders and decisions? I have always adored your father but there is one thing he doesn't want to understand: We are part of this world. We shall rise and fall with it—whether we take action or not."

This time it was a soft laugh that escaped Legolas' lips. "You and him—you are more alike than you think."

"Which is why we understand each other so well."

She regretted saying it the moment it left her tongue. It was not her place to judge Thranduil. She knew better. On the outside he performed the egoistical demeanor of a King, changing directions in his ruling like the wind depending on what benefits his own intentions the best. Under the surface although, the King who valued gems even above bonds of old, could not stand his ground against the warrior who had lived long enough to know the difference between battles which have to be fought, and battles which are fought out of the wrong reasons. Thranduil cared deeply for the well-being of his people and was willing to do whatever was necessary to ensure their safety—there was nothing wrong with that.

Legolas was right: This was what they had in common. Maybe if she had come to see and endure what Thranduil had in his three thousand years of lifetime, she would be able to understand his motives. But she was young and Thranduil did not hold it against her.

"_Goheno nín_," Tauriel added quickly. "I overstepped."

Legolas merely shook his head in return, not taking the slightest offence by her words. "You always do. Who can say if you had become such a skilled fighter and Captain, if you hadn't pulled my braids until I finally gave in to talk with my father about your training."

Now Tauriel smiled as well, the memory stronger than Thranduil's warnings. "I tried the same tactic with your father first," she admitted, snorting at how bold and disrespectful she had been as an Elfling. "It didn't impress him much. All what I achieved was that he frowned at me after some time and that I was scared in the end."

"I am sure there are moments when my father wishes these times back, where he could discipline you with just one look," Legolas chuckled, the almost invisible wrinkles in the corners of his mouth laughed at her with all they were worth, a warmth radiating from his eyes that made it almost impossible not to join him in his delight.

"I beg to differ," the elleth challenged with a teasing glint in her eyes, affected by his cheeky mood. "Having you as a son just has taught him how to be patient over the centuries."

Both Elves looked at each other a moment longer then they burst into amused giggles.

Once they had done this every day: Turning Thranduil into ridicule; spending time apart from the duties to protect their borders; talking freely about everything and nothing; joking with each other and being silly for no reason.

"We haven't done this in a while," Tauriel remarked carefully after their laughter had been swallowed by the stones, leaving them again alone with the soothing sound of running water.

Legolas nodded softly, waiting for her to continue.

She wished, she did not have to lift the spell—not yet, not ever. All eternity there was to come and suddenly it was as if she had no time left. Tauriel struggled to prevent her voice from shaking. This was not the time to be self-conscious. She disguised it with a curious wink.

"What is the occasion, if I may ask?"

As an answer Legolas raised his head, letting his eyes wander over the water reflections dancing on the wall towards the bright lights in the distance of the mighty halls.

"It is _Mereth en Giliath._" His eyes shot back to her face. An optimistic smirk appeared on his lips. "A night for celebration, for forgetting the evil in the world and be merry. A night devoted to tales and songs …"

Tauriel's heart skipped a beat. In the past Legolas often had sung to her the history of their kin to chase the looming shadow and it's foul voice away. During her years of maturity she had told him about the stars in return—what they were for her, what they meant to her and what foreign worlds must lie beyond them. Patiently he had listened to every of her ideas—no matter how fantastic they must have sounded to his seven hundred years old ears. He had taken great enjoyment in how open and bright her mind was, and what original paths it chose.

" … and dance."

Tauriel blinked. "Dance?"

Legolas chuckled at the puzzled expression on her face and at the way she pronounced the word as if she had never used it before. "You always begged me to sing to you the tale of _Tinúvie_l, did you not?"

Now the elleth was even more confused. She regarded Legolas with a mixture of curiosity and anticipation. What was it he had in mind? And more importantly: When would they pass the point to cancel it?

"That I did—and the song of the maiden _Nimrodel_."

"Your favorite one," Legolas mused.

"It still is."

"_Iston. Tolo," _was all he said before he offered her his right hand, opening his fingers little by little like a blossom on the break of day. A fond smile accompanied his actions eliciting deep and easy breaths from her.

Tauriel enjoyed dancing—all Elves did—but not as much as she enjoyed fighting which is why she had never practiced this art with the same devotion as shooting arrows or perfecting her skills with a blade. Yet, a dance was a dance—whether taking place between two friends or two enemies.

The longer she hesitated the warmer his smile seemed to become. "I assume, this is the moment where we both pretend as if we didn't know that you have already decided to accept."

She shook her head in amusement. There it was—his cheekiness. Once in a while it still knew how to find its way to the surface.

"_Caro den i linnas lín,"_ she responded in fake defeat, unable to resist a chance to tease him.

Eventually she closed the gap between. Just as her fingertips brushed over his palm, his other hand shot up clasping her right hand between his fingers. Even in the faint light of the cave the marks on her knuckles could not be mistaken.

"When did this happen?" he growled, undoubtedly recalling that she had not been injured during their fight against the spiders earlier that day. While Legolas was inspecting the bruised skin, Tauriel scolded herself for letting herself get carried away.

"Does it matter? It happened. It belongs in the past."

"The past can still affect the present."

"Are you now going to deny me my dance?" she but challenged, hoping to distract him. There was simply no reasonable explanation to justify such a wound. It was not her first injury and it will not be her last, but it was the first in over a century—naturally he would be alarmed.

Legolas shifted his attention from her hand to her eyes. "You should have told me."

Tauriel said nothing in return. She contented herself with starring at him, daring him to make the next move. And he did—all the while glaring daggers at her for her persistence, which amused her even more. He bowed to her first—she followed displaying no lesser grace. Presently they palms found each other in the air, their fingertips pointing towards the sky. In union they raised their hands on shoulder-level while condemning their left hands to wait patiently on either sides of their bodies.

_Teliën Gonathren_—it was the first feast dance Legolas had taught her, a steady sequence of repelling and inviting movements, and her spirited nature had enjoyed it immediately. It was a simply dance, easy to learn but what was so appealing to Tauriel was that—despite of all the turns and twists the partners had to undergo in the course of the dance—in the end they always found together.

Smiling the elleth looked at their hands, then back to his face. "And the song?"

In a soft tone hardly made to be carried away by the wind Legolas began to sing. Simultaneously their bodies moved. After the first view notes Tauriel knew it was the song of the maiden _Nimrodel_, and it was not the version she was used to:

_An Elven-maid there was so bold_

_A shining star by day:_

_Her wooden bow was hemmed with gold,_

_Her eyes of greenish-grey_

_A star was bound upon her brows_

_A light was on her hair_

_As sun upon the golden boughs_

_In Mirkwood the fair._

_Her hair was long, her limbs were white,_

_And young she was and free;_

_And in the wind she went as light_

_As leaf of linden-tree._

_Beware the blade of just Tauriel,_

_A master of life and death_

_Her heart the trees will tell_

_Derives from stars first breath._

_A Prince she served of old_

_In sunlight as in shade,_

_For his words had never told_

_When long his eyes betrayed. _

Legolas' voice faltered, and the song as well as their dance ceased.

The full extent of the meaning of his words hit her not as hard as the meaning that lay underneath. Tauriel wanted to back away—eventually drawing the line that would keep them on distance, but he would not have it.

"Legolas," Tauriel began awkwardly, the promising spark as obvious to her as it was to him. "_Man … cerig?" _

With growing embarrassment she listened to the song of his heart beating close to her own. Never before it had taken such a wild rhythm—like an untamed horse in the steppe, running after the wind who called its name. Ignoring her attempts to struggle out of his hold, his arms drew her closer until their foreheads touched. Tauriel took a deep breath. She was confident her heart would stop throbbing at any rate now. There was no going back, no hiding—he had chosen to expose her, and in the end it would shatter them both.

Legolas raised his head slightly. His eyes found hers once again, holding them with a caring expression. "Every time my father says something to you, you start keeping your distance. Do not think I haven't noticed—don't let him get to you."

Her answer died on the way from her head to her mouth. Legolas moved. Not _anywhere._ Playfully he tipped his nose against hers catching her off guard. Tauriel could not remember the last time he had done this. He chuckled sweetly as he noticed her reaction—eyes wide open while her breathing hitched—and placed his hands on either side of her face, cherishing the delicate skin with tender strokes of his thumbs.

"Are you going to hide behind my legs and glare at him for weeks, as you did when you were but an Elfling?" he whispered, a low tone that sent shivers down her arm.

He could have asked her if she would stay forever by his side, if she would fight for him until her last breath fades away, if he was the only one in this world she would ever need—and she could never give him an answer.

A sad smile crossed her lips. "He tolerated it once but now, I fear, he would not."

Something flashed in his eyes. The icy-blue suddenly turned dark like a page of parchment drenched in ink. "_Do not give him hope where there is none_."

Tauriel froze.

Utterly taken aback her eyes searched his. The expression she found was clear and open and oddly vulnerable. If it were not for the movement of his lips and his breath brushing ghostly over her face, she would have been sure Thranduil had sneaked up on them. In this moment Legolas sounded so much like his father that the elleth at first did not realize what his words conveyed. When she did, she could not hold his look and accept his touch any longer. She could draw swords or shot arrows in the blink of an eye, and now she used this speed to force his hands and warmth away from her—cringing when she noticed the look her actions caused on his face.

If this went on she would betray him, their friendship and the generosity Thranduil has shown her during all those centuries. He had been there for her when her father had no longer walked among them. The King had raised her like a child of his own. Not once he had looked down on her because of her lower elvish heritage. It did not matter to him. He had always favored and forgiven her—and he still did. Legolas was not the only one who cared—otherwise Thranduil would have never approached her about this matter in the first place.

"You've overheard our conversation?" , the Captain of the Guard clarified and it sounded less than a question than a statement.

"Not only this one."

"Then you know." Tauriel closed her eyes. She should have known—she should have paid attention. For decades already he would go wherever she went, and she would go wherever he went. If one of them is seen, it could be assumed that the other was not too far away either. Their positions as Prince and Captain had demanded it, though not as much as their relationship as friends.

She turned away, ashamed and overwhelmed but warm fingers reached out for her in time, stopping her from walking away. Legolas did not pull—and she was thankful he did not. Yet, she did not dare facing him. Instead her eyes roomed over the elegant art and structure of their home as if she had never seen any of it before. The reflections of the water-surface danced along the living walls of stone lightening them up with promises of dreams and magic.

"No," he answered. "I did once. Now I am not so sure, _melethril._"

The hesitant squeeze around her wrist in combination with his voice and choice of words made everything even worse. Her breath came shorter and deeper, and there was nothing she could do to stop it. Legolas was still close—she could feel the warmth radiating from his body brushing protectively over her back.

"I said everything what needed to be said in the King's presence," Tauriel replied, forcing her voice to sound harsh and cold.

"_Tinu nín_—"

"_Baw, henio!_" Every syllable felt like a stone in her stomach. "_Avbedo_!"

"Why not?" He squeezed her wrist again. "Tauriel … why not?" It was barely a whisper but it contained no plea or despair or regret.

The elleth swallowed. Then she risked a glance over her shoulder down at their hands. They matched like two bows made from the same tree. Tauriel had always liked his hands—deadly if they needed to be but gentle if you let them. Their strength and kindness had taught her how to fight, how to write, how to notch an arrow, how to climb on trees and how to feel the heartbeat of the earth beneath her palm.

Had it been that wrong?

"I am the Captain of the Guard," she answered sternly. "You and I, we have been together ever since I laid my eyes upon your father's halls for the first time." She paused. Her mind was racing, desperate to find words that would not cause more pain than necessary. More often than not it were her actions that spoke for her. She turned around intertwining her hand with his, but still refused to look at him. "I failed you in the most horrible way. _Diheno anim, mellon nín." _

Before he could do or say anything Tauriel bowed to him respectfully, placing their interlocked hands over her heart. Instantly her blood started humming in her ears. He heard it—she was sure.

Legolas said nothing for a very long time.

Then the fingers of his left hand lifted her chin. He took his time to study her in detail, taking in every little movement, every tremble of her mouth. A shiver ran down her spine. He was irritated—with her or with himself she could not tell. It was a look he had never used on her before. Without realizing she clutched his hand tighter against her chest.

The thumb under her chin brushed shyly over her lower lip—not long enough to frighten her but strong enough to let her know. She felt it in her breath, on her skin, in every muscle of her body—one more and she would start shaking like a leaf in autumn.

Legolas followed his own movements with his eyes. "_Be iest lín,"_ he finally said with a heartwarming smile Tauriel did not expect. It was honest, yet it did not replace the expression in his eyes. The shadow had returned. Pleased that the elleth at least did not evade his touch, his finger made their way up to her cheek until they came to rest against her neck in a tender grip.

"_Ú-moe edaved,"_ he went on, his voice as warm as his smile.

Relief washed over her like a mild breeze. The corners of her mouth twitched once, twice, until a brilliant smirk occupied her lips.

Then all of a sudden his right hand freed itself swiftly from her hold. A noise of disapproval escaped her throat turning into a weak gasp as his hand circled around her waist. One strong pull and in the next heartbeat she found herself pressed against his body, wrapped in warmth and this particular scent that was only him and him alone.

Tauriel tensed for a split second, already preparing to push away but her body moved on its own accords, tired of fighting and done with reason. She shuddered, unable to avert feeling equally cold and warm to feel him so close once more. Cautiously she placed her head in the crook of his neck, clinging to the material of his uniform on his back. It took her a while to notice that his body trembled as well—not as evidently as hers but the feeling was there nonetheless.

"_Hannon le,"_ she whispered blissfully against his skin, caressing his back ever so lightly with the tips of her fingers to calm him down.

Legolas did not move. His voice sounded perplexed but amused at the same time: "_Man an_?"

Tauriel inhaled his scent, carefully choosing her words only to end up ignoring them: "For allowing me to stay by your side."

Instead of an answer, Legolas raised his head and forced her to do the same. Tauriel smiled nervously up at him, more anxious about what he was going to do than what he would not do. He closed the gap slowly, all the way giving her time to back away.

She did not.

He kissed her feather lightly. First on the one then on the other cheek, on both of her eyes and finally on top of her forehead. He lingered there a moment longer, smiling against her skin. Tauriel smelled of young rain and fresh grass on a beautiful summer day.

"_Gerich veleth nín_," Legolas said, his voice full of emotions. It was a promise. A last touch, a last breath and then he left as soundless as he had sought her out.

Tauriel kept her eyes closed cherishing the moment just a little bit longer. It was as if she had taken a bath in pure sunlight.

When the elleth dared to open them again she felt like crying. In the end it had not been blindness that had kept her from seeing. No, it had been her—she had lied to herself about her feelings for her companion.

_I Nogoth … amman e tir gin, Tauriel?_

Her eyes wandered to the dungeons. A stone-cold expression straightened her features.

She knew now what she had to do.

* * *

**Elvish** _(No guarantee for 100% correctness of the forms, for I sometimes had to improvise with my Elvish grammar and vocab book_—_if anyone of you happens to be an Elvish specialist feel free to correct me):_

**_Avosto, Tauriel gornen. Aphado nin _ **Don't be afraid, brave Tauriel. Come with me.

** _Gwestol? _ **(reverential) Do you promise?

** _Gwestan _ **I promise.

**_Lasto tîr, pînmaethril _ **Listen carefully, little (female) warrior.

**_tinu nín _ **my little star

_** Na ten u-mîn,**_** _ernil nín_ **It is nothing, my Prince.

_** hest ** _Captain

**_Goheno nín _ **Forgive me.

**_Iston. Tolo!_ **I know. Come!

**_Caro den i linnas lín_ ** Your will shall be done.

**_Teliën Gonathren_ **Interwining game

**_Man … cerig?_ **What are you doing?

**_melethril_ **female who loves

**_Baw, henio! Avbedo!_ **Don't do it, please understand! Don't speak!

**_Diheno anim, mellon nín_ **Forgive me, my friend.

**_Be iest lín_ **As you wish.

**Ú-m****_oe edaved _**There is nothing to forgive.

**Hannon le **Thank you.

** Man an? **What for?

**Gerich veleth nín **You have my love.

**I Nogoth … amman e tir gin, Tauriel? **Why does the dwarf stare at you, Tauriel?


	2. Old and New Promises

**A/N:**

_Hey Dearies,  
_

_Let me begin with saying that I am utterly honored by all of your kind reviews and suggestions: They. Blew. Me. Away. Special thanks also to my guest readers: I wish, I could respond to each of you personally._

_ I'm sorry that it still took me nearly two months to come up with a second chapter but, well, you know how it goes with good things: They need time. Though in my (totally) subjective (*wink*) opinion I don't think this chapter is as good as the last. It certainly has its moments but since it's written from Legolas' point of view, and since I felt duty bound to scratch the surface of Tauriel's past a little bit, the plot doesn't really move on. Also someone made the suggestion I should do a flashback showing Tauriel as an Elfling with Legolas and Thranduil. To be honest I'm not a big fan of flashbacks but in order to reveal some of her past it's kind of necessary. _

_My main inspiration for this chapter was that when Thranduil mentioned to Tauriel that Legolas had grown VERY fond of her, as a way to indicate he might love her, I couldn't stop thinking it also indicated that Legolas had been fond of her all along, and not just since she became Captain of the Guard. _

**_WARNING: _**_Contains more reasons why Thranduil tries to hide his people from the world; why Tauriel seems to be Thranduil's and Legolas' equal (at least that's the vibe I get when I watch the interrogation scene with the Orc); why Tauriel seems kind of anxious when someone addresses her; Legiel cuteness; OC; and Thranduil behaving like a true Daddy.  
_

* * *

**Chapter:**_ Old and New Promises_

* * *

_Gerich veleth nín._

Brave one. Little warrior. My little star. Captain of the Guard. Tauriel.

He said it—meant it with every fiber of his existence. Still he should not have—not now, not like this. It felt wrong. Unsettling and utterly wrong. This peculiar feeling—Legolas knew it well. It was silence—the same kind of sinister silence echoing in the woods in prospect of an upcoming threat. No leaves would rustle. No birds would dare to chirp. Once the trees stopped talking peril was so close at hand, it could breathe against your neck.

Unwise is the choice that is not made before the decision is taken from you. It is easier to see what has been than what is. Many summers needed to come and pass. At last Legolas had given in to make the decision for both of them. Yet, to him it was as if he had said nothing at all. Worse: It was as if he _knew_ Tauriel not at all. He was a fool.

This is it. This is how it tasted and hurt: His betrayal to them, to their bond, to everything they were and could have been. He spoke truth knowing that speaking words that not needed to be spoken, served only on fatal purpose.

_It hurts_—_do you know why? Because you have not yet stopped fighting, brave one. Fighting means hurting._

Tauriel knew.

It was apparent.

Legolas was not one to use words lightly. She had his love—earned it, demanded it, wanted it. It was his dept to pay. Not hers—his alone. His heart had chosen for him long before his mind had taken notice. His fault—not hers.

The moment his father had carried the Elfling with shoulder-long hair in the colour of a burning sunset through the gates, Legolas knew some ill will had set his gaze on the Elves of the Woodland Realm. For long something strange had been at work but not since the fall of _Amon Lanc_ had his people came to suffer from any appalling deed such as the slaying of all their young ones had been. Out in the woods they had dwelled, gathering herbs for their medicine lessons; watched over only by a handful of Elf-wardens. Rain and mist had cloaked Mirkwood into shadows. They were too many—too many servants of darkness for a company of Elflings of whom most had not been taught to wield swords and bows yet. As was the way of the Elves, it was of greater value first to learn how to preserve a life before to be taught how to take one. This love for all living things that are good and true, sealed the fate of the Elf-Children. It is the nature of evil to strike when weakness is revealed.

No one had ever heard nor been witness to such atrocity—not within their own borders, not even during the Dark Years. _Fuin Argíl _they had named that sorrowful midsummer day_, _and mourn they did that great loss for many days and nights, and not before one year had passed they had been able to give voice to this hideous event in a song. None innocent soul lost to them had been forgotten, nor silenced the valor of those who gave their life to protect them. Yet not about grief and dread the last verse does end but about the one hope remaining that day: Tauriel, the lone Elfling that had survived the Orc raid.

Legolas could still see her. She had been nothing more than a small fragile bundle, tightly cuddled against Thranduil's chest refusing to acknowledge the existence of a world outside of the warmth and security his father's aura had offered to her. Barely two decades old had Tauriel been at that time. An innocent child in the eyes of every living being with a good heart—too young for the weight of sorrow and loss, and too pure to already have had to feel and fall prey to the cold hand of death.

Legolas had known her father Anorion ever since the King had allowed his son to take his place among the guards to defend their realm. A proud but true-hearted Elf he had been, wise and generous in both deed and thought, never afraid to do what must be done.

_Tauriel, what do you know about fear?_

_It is the weapon of all weapons. No blade cuts deeper and no scar takes more time to fade._

Her loss could have shattered her. For myriads of days Legolas feared it did.

Restless had been her hours, filled with a nameless terror that drew the light from her eyes and the strength from her heart. She seemed awake but not present—as if her eyes could nothing more than plainly fulfill the task of sight, though long they had forgotten how to dream. Soon seasons bloomed and fade, yet Tauriel had tolerated no one in her presence other than his father, shying in panic away even from her parents' old friends whom she had been familiar with since she was born. When they sought Tauriel's company or tried to engage her into their conversations, the Elfling fled as swift and light-footed as a deer behind the King, glancing anxiously around from her safe hide-spot behind his legs and coat hem. On occasion her small fingers ever so carefully sought for Thranduil's hand. To show his approval, his father in return would give the Elfling a small smirk paired with an assured squeeze. A sight not seen by many but one that—when noticed—more than once was cause for a hidden smile on Legolas' lips, and a certain warmth in his heart. It had amazed him how easily Tauriel seemed to be able to evoke light and joy from his father with her behavior whilst she herself walked in misery. Truth, to some extent all Elf-Children share this peculiar power over adult Elves, simply because Elves can take no greater delight in having and raising children.

The difference in Tauriel's demeanor towards Thranduil was that she did not once made a move to change him—instead she made sure to let him know that she liked him for being him. What would take many lifetimes of men, Tauriel accomplished in merely months: She accepted Thranduil. All of him—the cold-hearted King and the kind father, the wise mind behind the warrior without mercy, the shattered pieces of the once so spirited soul behind the stone-hard façade.

Yet, no matter how much this acceptance helped her to understand his motives, it did not hinder her young heart from questioning them with the same devotion. Sometimes her compassion was the only thing able to save her from her fierce nature. One day both will be her downfall.

_You and him—you are more alike than you think._

_Which is why we understand each other so well._

It had made her strong and him weak. During her years of maturity it had been nothing more than a vague feeling—a slight whisper in the wind that would vanish if not treated with the most utter care. Tauriel did not do it on purpose—she never does. Her being still an Elfling had protected her but when she reached her fiftieth conception-day, it had become clear as the break of morning light not only to Legolas or Thranduil but to every other Elf in Mirkwood as well: Tauriel made the great Elven-King look weak. It was exposed in the way he treated her, in what she did and he did not. He was the empty shell—she the spirit, he was the shadow, the fractured reflection on the water surface—she was the real strength, the determination under which kingdoms would rise and fall.

It was one of the lessons his father taught him at a very young age: A title holds no power. Power comes from perception.

Over the endlessness of times Thranduil had grown tired of the company of the Elves surrounding him. Some of them only spoke to him words they presumed he would want to hear. Others due to fear and misplaced respect did not dare to speak to him at all, feeling secure and at place with only smiling and chuckling chastely in his presence. Then there were Elves who could challenge Thranduil—both in matters of wisdom as well as in skills with the blade, but did not act on it for their loyalty towards their King was of greater importance than a fleeting moment of inappropriate temper. And then there was Tauriel.

There were no other Elves like her—except for his father.

_I look at her and I see myself_—_a wolf before the leap, the rain on the final leaf, the whisper among the old trees. Would you truly expect me to approve that?_

_Could you, Ada?_

_Tell me, iôn nín, who is feared more? The dragon? Or the one who controls the dragon? _

Legolas had his doubts that Tauriel has ever even been aware. Yet, this power had been there since this fateful day Thranduil had taken her under his charge.

Legolas knew what actions his father would take in consequence—everything would go amiss. The misery was inevitable: He cut his bond with Tauriel on the day she reached her first century, denied her any kind of closeness and familiarity he had allowed her as an Elfling, and commanded her to keep the proper distance and attitude as expected in front of a King.

She had cried, at first. Under the cloak of night, long after the sun went already to deep slumber, she stole herself out of her quarters into the woods—never too far away from the gates to get herself lost or in danger, but also not close enough to let the guards on watch hear her mourning.

At that time the darkness from Dol Guldur started spreading over northern Woodland. Trees became ill—infected by an ancient evil that caused their roots to rot and turned their calm voices into painful shrieks. This dreadful sound could not be swallowed by stone, water or earth. It rode on the winds from the south, over the Mountains of Mirkwood, along the Forest River into Thranduil's mighty halls, until it reached the foot of Ered Mithrin. It was a forewarning intending to sow the seeds of fear and despair in the hearts of the Wood-Elves.

Nothing was more lethal than the awareness that with each passing day death crept closer, and there was no escape. They all could listen to it—it felt like a second, horrible heartbeat—how the spiders wove their webs over leaves and boughs, and clicked with their claws to the song of the dying world. The taunt to even utter such a challenge was both bold and calculated. The offspring of malice felt save in their domain in the south—and as long as they did not act on their threats, the Elves had nothing to fear of the woods outside their halls. Since _Fuin Argíl _no Orc or wolf had been sighted in northern Mirkwood.

Thranduil had made sure of it.

Legolas never let Tauriel out of sight in these nights nonetheless. He would not have risked it—not with her. Though she had been trained by then in the art of sword-fighting and archery for a little more than fifty years, she yet had had to prove herself in real battle. It was three hundred years later that she had become the master of blades, put to testing by the King himself before he assigned her the position of Captain of the Guard. Never before has an Elf been called to this task at such a young age. Tauriel not only surpassed Anorion but also succeeded to his position.

When she fled the halls, Legolas fled with her, keeping his distance as if she were a wounded animal—ready to strike and sink her fangs into his flesh at any time. It had been a delicate point in their relationship. One false movement, one false word or thought, and he would have lost her—it would have been as if she had never learned to trust him in the first place.

Never would Legolas forget. He recalled the hour clearly when they began to mean something.

Naturally he had taken notice of the Elf-Child with hair in the rare reddish colour of auburn—a sign of kinship to Nerdanel, the wife of Fëanor, the High King of Noldor as is said—long before their paths crossed. Still, if fate had been kinder to her, they would have never come to wander under the stars together.

It had taken Legolas patience and many moons until Tauriel felt comfortable enough in his presence to exchange a few broken words with him, and it had taken many moons more until she became familiar with him enough to allow him to stay alone with her instead of his father.

Although Thranduil had been the only one who's touch she had tolerated, Legolas had not failed to notice that Tauriel did not cease to fight his father just as she did him—she fought to let them in, she fought to let them know, to let them see her, to reveal who she was. While his father had called for patience, her rejection had caused Legolas misery. He could not detect why she would distrust her own people, let alone deny herself the comfort she needed to chase the shadows away. Nearly six hundred years later her fondness of proximity and skin contact would never indicate her former fear. Though at times the Captain of the Guard still acted like that anxious child of once—not in battle or around him or the King but when she was confronted with others she was not familiar with. Then her eyes would widen and often they would avoid to look at the source of her discomfort, roaming around as if searching for the thought that would calm her nervous mind.

The first time Legolas had touched her skin, he had not paid attention to his actions. Born from merriment and excitement his fingers had carelessly slid into her left hand, as insisted upon by his kindhearted nature. They had came to respect each other by then but the moment he felt her fingers gently closing around his instead of drawing away, Legolas still had looked at her in amazement.

Suddenly the mist had cleared and he had understood it all: It had not been physical closeness she had been afraid of—but the one that would follow naturally in due time. Tauriel had not wanted to risk it to allow another one to become a part of her—a part she one day, like her father, might again be unable to protect. Despite her youth this loss had taught her that once she agreed to let someone become a part of her heart, she would never be able to banish him from her thoughts again. She would carry him with her wherever she went knowing his life was more important to her than her own or that of a whole world. And once that part is lost, it could not be replaced by another, just like the memory that would stay with her until the end of all times.

She failed—twice.

_The King knew, he would fail me one day, did he not? Yet, he promised me. It was a dream and I shall hold it dear but I won't feel any gratitude. The pain is still too near. _

_You are very special to him, tinu nín. Do not let doubt be rampant in your heart. My father stays true to his words. When you need him, he will be there._

_I need him now._

_No. No, you don't. Not anymore. _

Anorion was slain by those Orcs that dared to claim his daughter's life. It was Thranduil himself who saved Tauriel when everything else had already been too late. In her eyes the Elven-King had proven that he was strong enough to protect himself when she was unable to—him she would not lose to darkness and death, him she could allow to be close. Losing Thranduil without truly losing him renewed the wound her father had left behind.

For nights Tauriel had climbed on one particular large tree, sat down on the strongest bough facing west and cried—until the smile of the sun traced her hair with light kisses through the leaves. Though her eyes had always been red and the sign of her tears still prominent, Tauriel had never cried during the bright light of day. Legolas had listened to it all, always watching her from his spot down by the roots. From time to time Thranduil had joined him, eyes closed as if far away. Not once the great Elven-King gave his thoughts away while silently observing the distress he had caused, and Legolas never asked him to—the way Thranduil dealt with it had revealed more than enough.

Every time at dawn Legolas had taken his leave: Soundless and quick. He was certain Tauriel was aware of his presence. That she did not act on it had reassured him. To him it was a sign that she understood that he would not pretend to be able to take her pain away, but that he could endure it together with her as long as it would take. It was his way of reminding her: She was not alone—not in this, not ever. He would go nowhere. No one had abandoned her. None of what had happened, had been her wrong-doing. He lived for and with her—not to pity her but to be ready when she needed him.

Legolas also had made a promise to her, back then a few weeks after the incident that let their fragile relationship start to grow into a significant one. It was the night of _Fuin Argíl. _One year had passed. That night Legolas saw it for the first time: That one breath-taking, warm smile.

* * *

_The sun was setting. _

_On the branch above his head a bird, black as the upcoming darkness, opened his orange-red beak paying his tribute to a day filled with sunshine. It was also calling to the stars to come forth, daring them to mock the sun even before she closed her eyes. _

_Legolas took a deep breath, like one that appeases his thirst after a long journey without rain. The wind smelled already of cold stone, sleeping grass and herbs, and the alluring scent of cool, wet earth. It was midsummer_—_his favorite season, for all the trees around his father's halls stood all in mighty green. And they hummed, clearly enjoying the many hours of sun the summer months granted them. The sound was infectious. It raised his spirits. Softly Legolas picked up the tune while the last sunrays ducked down behind the horizon. _

_Ever since he remembered Legolas had always been very fond of the twilight. When he was but an Elfling, the King often had taken him out on a ride through the woods at these particular hours of the day. The giggles and cries of pure bliss Thranduil received in response from his son as they chased like a wild storm through the undergrowth_—_forcing every living-being to jump out of their way_—_had became one of his much loved sounds. When Legolas once had asked his father what sound he favored most, he had been thoughtful for a few moments. His final answer then had surprised Legolas_—_not because of the meaning it conveyed but because his father had never been too keen on sharing his feelings. _

Why you, iôn nín. When I heard your first breath, I knew I would never come to love anything else the way I would love you.

_Legolas smiled softly, remembering the warmth in his father's icy-blue eyes before he all of a sudden picked his little son up. Accompanied by a lot of squealing and effortless attempts of escaping, Thranduil threw the Elfling-Prince over his shoulders and started spinning them around_—_all the while joining Legolas in his joyful laughter. _

_That was over six hundred years ago. Times might change but hearts did not. Legolas stopped to put his trust into such words when he had been condemned to stand by and witness the fading of the light in his father's eyes, the hardening of his face, and the growing distance in his voice. _

_Presently these words taught him better. He had heard and seen it again_—_the smile, the laughter. All there, just not because of him: Little Tauriel, kind but sad little Tauriel had captured the King's heart, reminding him of the small wonders life tend to flung at them from time to time. Legolas did not think he would ever grow tired of watching his father throwing the auburn-haired Elf-Child up in the air and catching her safely in his arms again. Tauriel would laugh and cry until her cheeks gleamed in the freshest shade of pink, looking like an apple waiting to be plucked. She was fond of laughing and being merry_—_that was one of the first things Legolas had learned about the daughter of the forest. Darkness and shadow had not consumed her. This was not how it would end. Misery was nothing but one path of many everyone had to follow at times. It was not her fate to sit still and watch, locked away in his father's halls for all ages to come. Legolas knew it, and the King feared it. _

_The humming faltered. _

_There, almost shy, sparkled a star in the violet-blue evening sky. No mist, no rain. _

_Legolas' heart skipped a beat. It was nearly time. For tonight his father had seen to make arrangements for a feast in the woods. Celebrations under the eyes of the stars were treasured by all Elves but not all engaged themselves quite as often in it as did the Wood-Elves. It was supposed to be pure life and delight._

_ Alas this particular one was held for reasons not born from honoring the light of stars: It was to remember and never forgive. The feast would take place from dusk till dawn_ _involving a lot of dancing, singing and drinking_—_and it was strictly forbidden for all who yet had to come off age. This restriction did not come as a surprise to Legolas. The Orc raid did not pass the King without leaving its traces. Thranduil would not endanger any of their precious ones again_—_no matter how loud the cries of protest echoed in his halls._

_ Legolas sympathized to some extent with their disappointment_—_especially since it had been announced that Thranduil himself would sing tonight. Something that takes place merely once or twice every century. The elders among the Elves had not been able to hide their excitement entangling themselves for weeks in hymns of praises about the King's voice. His father's singing was like nothing else_—_it could not be described for all words would fail to capture the beauty and soul within. Trees would awake from his voice and rocks would start to whisper in wonder. It had only served to increase the distress of the young ones even more. _

_As expected Legolas would attend the feast although he would rather see himself patrolling along their borders_—_or having an eye on his dearest Elfling._

_ Restless were still her nights, ruled by dark memories, shadows, blood and remorse. He knew because almost every night Tauriel sneaked out of her bed chamber, rushed light-footed across the hallway and slipped into his father's quarters. There Thranduil would find her in the hours past midnight, snugly cuddled in his bed clutching one of his pillows for dear life, her nose buried in the soft material_—_apparently taking in the traces of his scent. So peaceful, and contented with herself and the world she looked that the King often did not find it in his heart to wake or remove her. _

_Every then and now Legolas would find them both in the morning deep in dreams and calm sleep: His father lying on his back, eyes unclosed, one arm draped caringly around Tauriel's smaller form. The Elfling at his side, her right cheek bedded on his chest right where his heart beat a steady rhythm, and her left arm loosely around his waist. They looked as if they belonged there. Some of Thranduil's strands of silver hair mingled with Tauriel's auburn ones which had grown past her shoulders in the last year. In the early sunlight their hair glimmered like gems. _

_Legolas sighed. Why was it the nature of all good things to come to an end one fateful day? Tonight, when Tauriel would be in need of him more than in every other night, Thranduil would not come and Tauriel was not allowed to go to him_—_it was cruel. _

_His bow in one hand Legolas used the other to swing himself from the bough he was sitting on. Some leaves rustled slightly but otherwise Legolas made no sound. Gracefully he landed on the forest floor. Glancing back up he noticed that the bird had flown away. _

_As Legolas reached the gates the air was filled with silver voices and enchanting melodies. The last company of Elves heading for the feast walked slowly out between the tree shaped pillars. Some of them bore lights shimmering like starlight but in colors no star would ever take. Others carried cups and dishes, and drink and food. Some spoke in soft voices with each other, others stayed silent listening only to their own thoughts. One thing though, they all shared: Daggers, swords and arrows attached to a belt around their waists. _

_Patiently the Elven-Prince waited by the wayside. Each Elf passing by bowed to him, greeting him with courteous smiles and reverent words. Some took his hands. They all wished him a night full of merriment. As the last Elf passed he turned and looked Legolas long in the eyes. _

"_You are late, my beloved son," Thranduil said at last, allowing the slightest hint of accusation to come forth. He was dressed in an elegant robe in the shades of grass in the moonlight_—_grey on fluent midnight blue. On his head he wore his crown adorned with fresh leaves, and flowers in sunset-red and sky-blue. His mighty Elvish blade rested in a golden sheath by his side. _

"_Goheno nin, ada," Legolas answered, tipping with his fingers feather-lightly against his forehead in the Elvish way. "I lost myself in the song of the blackbird." _

_The King slowly tilted his head. "What did it tell you?"_

_Legolas hesitated._ _Elves were not the mere beings that remembered. "Only what it wanted me to know."_

"_They all do_—_animals, trees, stones, grass and undergrowth, wind and river. They all sing about how fair and deeply missed are those we lost to the darkness. They fear to upset us if they dare voice what cannot be voiced." _

"_The evil from the south taught us what real pain is ," said Legolas harsher than intended. "Beginning tonight it shall not be glad that it did." _

_The King showed no sign of acknowledgement. Bit by bit his eyes strayed away as did his face. Nothing moved, nothing happened. Thoughtful and silent he gazed westwards into the darkness. It appeared as if his father had lost interest in the conversation long before it even started. _

_Frustration began to flicker in Legolas' heart. "You have decided then?"_

"_That I did," Thranduil answered. "The king's doors are to remain open. No Elfling will be able to leave, and no evil will be able to enter. That is what friends and foes alike will remember tonight when they hear me sing." _

_All of a sudden there was a strong hand on Legolas' shoulder. Surprised the Elven-Prince raised his eyes once again. They wandered from his father's arm up over his face in time to see something flash in the depths of icy-blue. Thranduil was studying him, and while no one else was able to detect the emotion, Legolas did. After all, all children had the ability to read their parents. _

"_Be sure to bid Tauriel goodnight." _

_The hand gave a significant squeeze before it left altogether. Legolas could not fight the small smile that settled down on his fair features. He bowed. "If it would please my lord."_

"_It would," was all Thranduil said. Without another glance or word the King gracefully followed the lane of lights in the distance, leading his steps away from his green halls and into the heart of the woods. _

_Legolas watched his father until the last light of dusk ceased to be reflected in his silver hair. Before long the great Elven-King passed beyond his sight. Rocks and undergrowth turned into black shadows. Yet the sky remained clear. One star after the other came out. Soon the night would be in full blossom. _

_The Elven-Prince turned around and across the bridge he went. Beneath his feet the wild Forrest River splashed and danced. Ahead at the far end the king's doors awaited him wide open. No one knew this kingdom as Legolas did_—_not even Thranduil himself. Every stone and rock, every tree and trunk, and every bridge and quarter were known to him like the backside of his hand. There were no secrets left the halls could hide from him_—_long the nightmares lost their teeth. Left alone the Forest River whispered at times of a dawn that would never come, of stolen innocence and the declining songs of freedom. _

_Legolas passed the guards with a swift glance of acknowledgement, repeating his father's order that the gates are to be kept open. He encouraged them to stay alert. Inside the entrance-hall was lit with warm torch-light, flickering and hissing, and casting dancing silhouettes on the walls. With ease his feet found their way on the twisting paths and crossing stairs made of roots and living stone. _

_Long before Legolas reached the hallway leading towards the chambers that were the closest to the stars, he halted._

_ His sharp ears had picked up the slightest tap of feet_—_a sound not made to be heard by men or beasts_. _Swift like the wind the Elven-Prince took cover in the corner of a passage, pressing his back flat against the cool stone. He waited. He listened. No mistake: The feet sped down the corridor heading for the direction of the gates. _

_Then, after too many heartbeats came and went, Legolas saw it: Auburn hair swayed ever so lightly, ever so beautiful into his view of vision. Tauriel tiptoed passed him without risking a glance back over her shoulders. To his bewilderment she was clad in full sparring garments as would Elflings when attending to their sword and archery lessons. His eyes narrowed briefly before he fought a playful smile that threatened to conquer his lips._

"_Where do you think you are going, brave one?"_

_The Elfling froze in her tracks on the head of the stairs, one foot hovering above the edge. One more moment it seemed as if she argued with herself whether to step back and yield, or to be daring and fly the stairs but then she put her foot down and turned around to face him. _

_Instead of answering his question she decided to fire one at him herself: "Where have you been?" _

_The young elleth sounded troubled and Legolas wondered whether that was because he caught her or because she had missed him. He searched her face in vain_—_it betrayed neither unease nor happiness. Her eyes glanced him over, taking in his battle gear and bow. When they had returned to his face, the pout on her lips had vanished._

"_Patrol duties have kept me away," Legolas explained with a faint chuckle, approaching her slowly. He could not admit it to himself while he had been away watching their borders and woods for ere signs but seeing her now, he could tell that something was amiss when he was not able to look after her every day. "A precaution for tonight's feast. I fear, this once you have to be lenient towards me."_

_It had been too long since he last played a trick on her. Tauriel did not go for it. His words did not lighten her mood as was intended_—_on the contrary. Legolas noticed it in the way her lips pressed tightly together and how her fingers trembled like leaves in autumn._

"_I understand you want to go watch the stars and hear the King sing. You want to honor your father's memory." _

_He was standing now right in front of her. Close but not touching; showing but not intimidating. The Elfling did not raise her head. Almost stubbornly she stared straight ahead at his belly. The Elven-Prince crouched down until he was on one level with her eyes. He took his time with them. To his delight she did not avoid the warmth that spoke from his to hers._

"_Be not angry with me for I cannot allow you to go outside on your own_—_not even in bright daylight. You know why."_

"_Come along then if you must," Tauriel replied with a note of irritation in her voice. "You are the Prince_—_surely you are allowed to go outside whenever you please."_

_That was the second thing Legolas had learned about the elleth: She was bold, and particularly careless with her own life when need was great to save another. A quality that walked the same path as 'dangerous'. _

"_Not when the gates are closed."_

"_Is there no other way? A hidden path?"_

_Legolas chuckled. How truly wonderful and unique the souls of children were. "No, restless one. No hidden paths. And even if there were, I would not defy my father's order." _

_The fire of determination burned down then a little, though it did not go out. One strong wind was all it would take. A soul like hers did not yield to any master_. _Her heart was the only master she acknowledged, and its orders the only ones she truly followed. Cautiously but no less teasing, Legolas poked her forehead. She frowned in response. _

"_We have centuries to come to engage ourselves in such ploys." _

_Her grayish green eyes_—_like a forest morning in spring still cloaked in mist_—_focused on him. Suddenly something in their depths began to radiate. Careful at first, then more vigorously like the evening star after the sun had finally given in to the night. Never before had Legolas seen it on her and it took him a while to realize what it was. At once his soul started to hum in wonder._

"_Come now, tinu nín," he said softly, mirroring her smile with no lesser intensity. He shouldered his elven-bow and turned around, offering the Elfling his back. "Let us shut out the night and see to get you some rest. I would not want for you to fall off your horse in the morning due to a night spent with wandering around."_

"_I am not tired," she protested, "and I did not wander around." _

_Legolas considered her words for a while. It was not until he guessed her thoughts that he gave an answer: "Have faith in my father if you do not have it in me. Tonight is the King's night. Do not despair! Every living being that has forgotten he will make remember, and every dearly loved one lost to us will come, and see, and live with us until sunrise."_

_Deep and easy her next breathe was, rustling softly like the wind in the flowering borders of a river. Then she swallowed, and whatever it was she wanted to say went away with it. Legolas heard and felt it as well, and just like her soul his took a pause and listened intently: A voice, young and ancient, thick and light, sweet and bitter like the first drop of morning dew, fell around and within them._

"_What is it?" Tauriel whispered in awe._

"_It is the stone," Legolas answered, glancing around as if he dared the walls to move all of a sudden. "The feast has begun. My father's voice awakes him from his slumber. Now he repeats his song verse by verse_ _like soon will all trees and streams of our realm_—_a chorus destined to be heard all over Middle-Earth. If you let it, it will grant you sleep as deep and full of dreams as it is the way of Men." He cast her a swift look over his shoulder. "Come, Tauriel, come with me." _

_His voice_—_though gentle_—_could not conceal the definite authority his position ascribed him. Legolas expected her hesitation but he knew she had made up her mind the moment she had chosen not to fly. As it was, Tauriel stepped closer between the next two heartbeats. Her legs brushed a little against his hands just before the Elfling took a small leap and landed on his back. There was no hesitation or shiver_—_neither when her arms in search for halt curled around his neck, nor when his hands got a hold on the backside of her thighs to steady her while he walked. She was as light as a feather but her warmth put a different kind of weight on him._

_Not for long he had carried the Elf-Child when she spoke up again: "Legolas?"_

_He took notice that her voice was close to his ear, though she did not nuzzle against him. A sweet scent, fresh and clean and not unknown to him, wrapped itself around him like a cloak. It was the trace of the first rain_—_all Elflings carried it until they were fully grown. It was supposed to shield them from harm for it blended with the scent surrounding them, making them imperceptible for any malevolent sense and will. _

"_Yes?"_

"_May I ask a question?"_

_The Elven-Prince titled his head slightly in the direction of her voice. Strands of her silk auburn hair ghosted across his cheek. He smirked. "You may."_

"_Why did you call me tinu nín?" _

_The smirk turned into a playful smile. "Does it displease you?"_

"_No, it is a pretty name but …" Tauriel paused. _

"_But?"_

_She seemed to bite her lip. "My father always called me pînmaethril." _

"_This name suits you as well," Legolas agreed amused. _

_He had watched them once_—_Anorion and his daughter as they flung themselves at each other in a dance of daggers. Blunt and slender their blades had been, fitting for an Elfling. Still, teaching an Elf-Child that yet has to reach youth in the art of fighting was indeed a startling sight to be seen. It had been harmless_—_as harmless as fighting could get but in time Thranduil saw need to remind Anorion to not take it in any further until Tauriel's fiftieth summer approached. _

"_You call me tinu nín because it suits me?" clarified the young elleth, mastering to sound both doubtful and amazed. _

_In response Legolas laughed kindly. "Among other reasons."_

"_But me and a star are nothing alike!"_

"_You are," he insisted, climbing the next wooden stair in but four strong leaps to make her heart skip a beat. It worked. "Think about it."_

_That she did_—_after her surprised squeal died in her throat and her legs loosened their grip around his waist once more. Brooding her chin now rested on his shoulder. At last the Elfling decided: "You know nothing about stars."_

_Legolas did not reply. Maybe it was the truth_—_maybe he did know nothing about stars. Maybe he knew all about stars but nothing about her._

_There was silence for but one moment of a moment, then: "Legolas?"_

"_Yes?"_

"_Why does your Ada not smile more often? I have seen him doing it. I know he can."_

_Her words spoke of innocence, yet something in the way she said it forced Legolas to halt. _

_They had reached the hallway that sited the highest above the ground. Here lay the king's quarters, thronged by trunks and boughs forming the chambers like the crown of a mallorn-tree. In their many-tiered branches and amid pillars of pale stone countless little lights were gleaming. Silver was their glow for no torch or candle or lamp was its origin: Gilloth, fragile like feathers, soft like skin, and shaped like flag-lilies, grew in band of hundreds from out the stone and wood. They glowed in memory of star- and moonlight reminding Thranduil's folk that they once dwelled under the open sky. Soon, when the night was old and the moon stood the highest, his silver smile would fall down in rays from various shafts. The scent of cold grass and leaves lingered in the air nearly completing the illusion of a home in the trees. _

_Legolas chose his words with care: "Alas my father has seen a lot and had to endure even more. He has come to fear the world_—_especially the growing darkness in the south. Before Fuin Argíl no enemy has ever dared to cross our lands."_

"_King Thranduil? Afraid?" Tauriel shook her head in disbelief. "But he is so strong! How can he be afraid of anything? He shouldn't be!"_

_A sad smile settled on his lips. He thought the exact same about his father when he was her age. "He fears not for himself, tinu nín, but for the ones dear to him. His heart cannot take another loss. Evil has robbed him of too much already."_

"_But he still has you, has he not?" Tauriel offered, drawing ever so slightly closer to him. "You should be enough to make him smile."_

_Legolas knew the Elfling did not mean to but it hurt nonetheless. "One would think," he said, following the hallway paved with white stone to the far end were the last grove-like entrance faced north-east._

_She seemed to have picked something up from his voice because all of a sudden she nestled her head in the crook of his neck, sighing contently against his warm skin. She stole his warmth and gave him her own_—_and did not feel the need to ask forgiveness for it. _

_"For me you are enough." _

_He entered the oval shaped chamber, filled with silver starlight but to him it was as if he had stepped into pure sunlight instead. It was everywhere: Surrounding, calling, within him. Legolas did not falter in his steps though he drew a slow breath. Then he laughed softly. He felt Tauriel smile against his skin. _

"_Why have you brought me here?" she asked, as Legolas lifted her from his back and lay her gently down on the bed. Her nose had noticed the familiar scent at once, as have her eyes the walls of green, silver and brown. _

_He chose not to answer but sat down next to her as if prepared to watch over her all night. Carefully his hands first reached for one and then the other ankle guiding her legs to rest across his lap. Legolas was mildly surprised that she let him slit the boots off her feet, and was even more surprised when she did not remove her legs once he had finished. Instead she curled her toes forth and back as if testing if they still bent to her will. Unable to resist the Elven-Prince gave them a mischievous nudge causing the Elfling to utter a loud squeal that blended instantly into a row of merry giggles. _

_She retreated her legs then, which was not meant to signal defeat as he discovered one heartbeat later when one of the pillows came flying towards him. Barely in time he ducked but the soft material traced his head feather-lightly nonetheless. The following minutes were a blur of bending away from pillows, grabbing and flinging pillows, and laughing at each other when the pillow hit its target. Legolas could not recall the last time he had laughed with all his heart_—_it must have been an eternity for it took him many gleeful tears after there were no pillows left on the bed to fling before his breathe returned to its usual steady rhythm. _

_In the silence they became aware that the singing had changed: Flowing water, calm and pure like a brook, came falling like silver laughter to their ears. The Forrest River had joined the living stone. For a while they listened together. _

"_Legolas?"_

_He chuckled. "Yes?"_

"_Promise me we will always stay together."_

"_Always-always?" he teased, raising a brow._

_Tauriel pinched his arm softly, a growl escaping her lips. "Of course always-always! What sense would it otherwise make?"_

_Legolas shook his head in sincere amusement. Hers was a common sense and perception he could not disagree with. He looked at her_—_really looked at her. Even always-always seemed suddenly not enough. _

_"So it may be. I promise." _

* * *

Legolas agreed.

Back then he was indeed cheeky and lighthearted, won over for merriment fairly easily. He had changed. Tauriel had not. She grew: No longer bold but dangerous she was now both in speech and deed. Not by carelessness her actions were driven but by recklessness. She never ceased to be fond of laughing though now instead of embracing it she fought for it. Like her father she would follow her heart over the orders of her King, gladly giving her life for those she held dear. Tauriel's fault was her kindness and compassion—they caused her to care too easily.

His eyes wandered from her to the dwarf. They narrowed at the way his eyes lit up at her words.

_Aren't you going to search me? I could have anything down my trousers._

Legolas' jaw tightened.

He lost this one breath-taking, warm smile to a creature greedy, stubborn, and blind to the lives of those it deemed lesser than its own. If it were but in their might dwarves would capture the stars one by one condemning their light to fade behind cages out of stone and darkness, never to be seen again.

A snarl escaped his lips. Naturally this is what this horrid creature saw in her: Nothing more than another gem of many for his treasure hoard, meant to be owned and kept hidden.

_Hannon le._

_Man an?_

_For allowing me to stay by your side._

Legolas flinched. Thousands of years could pass and still he would not think himself worthy of someone like her. His latest failure stood proof as such: Merely five hundred years it had taken him to become aware that the one standing in her way of happiness, was him.

But he had promised.

* * *

**Elvish:**

**_Fuin Argíl_ ** "Night without stars"

**Anorion** "Son of the Sun"

**iôn nín** my son

_**Gilloth**_"blooming star"

_PS: I think, we all would truly fee__l loki'd if (after all this Legolas-Tauriel-Kili) it turned out in "There and Back again" that Thranduil has a VERY soft spot for our favorite elleth. Just saying._


End file.
